


Packing for New Zealand

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [79]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee (TV) RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 13:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14106873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	Packing for New Zealand

  
**players only. backdated to December 2013, a few days after[the incident at Citadel](http://antony-starr.dreamwidth.org/9178.html).**

_warnings: none_

"Did you pack your fleece?" Antony asks Stephen, rolling his clothes so they'll fit better in his bag. He has this down to a fucking art, everything as lightweight and small as possible. But with the wedding, time in New Zealand, visiting family... keeping things to a minimum is proving quite the challenge.

Stephen has three distinct piles of clothing set out - well, two piles of clothes and then some shorts. Each pile for a differing part of their trip - and of course there is also his suit, his wedding suit, hung up alongside Antony's. He eyes his lover's luggage with resignation, Antony is a world class champ at packing, he however, is not. "I'm at the ‘fuck it’ stage and I'm prepared to pay whatever the fuck it costs just so I can have all the shit I want with me." He huffs out a breath and runs his hand over his head in exasperation.

"Here. I'll help," Antony says, moving from his bag to Stephen's and starting to roll his clothes. "And you don't need to pack everything now. We'll have time after Christmas to get ready for Nepal and Goa." He grins at his lover and leans in, giving him a quick peck on the mouth.

"But I won't need any clothes for Goa," Stephen points out, stepping back, "I'm assuming you'll want me naked." He turns to plant his ass on the bed. He's been a little on edge since the day at the club, he's putting it entirely down to nerves - and doing his best to hide it from his Sir and lover.

"I will," Antony agrees, grin widening. He smiles at Stephen, making quick work of the first pile of clothes. "You okay?"

"Hmm?" Stephen glances up, he'd totally zoned out, the fingertips of his right hand rubbing back and forth over his knee. "What? Oh, yeah, yeah sure," he nods.

"You don't seem okay," Antony says quietly. "Still thinking about the other day?"

The fingers still, and Stephen curls them into a fist. It's on the tip of his tongue to lie. "Sort of, I'm nervous about next week too," he shrugs. "Things on my mind."

"You said you were going want to talk about it," Antony says, still quietly, casually, trying not push too hard, but on the other hand...

Pushing up off the bed with a sigh, he pads over to where their suits are hung up, side by side. Reaching out, Stephen fusses with the clear plastic of the carrier. "Not sure a week before our wedding is the right time to do that," he admits softly.

That stops Antony in his tracks. "Why's that?" he asks. "You really think us talking about this stuff is going to affect our get married?" Because if it is, he's been living on a whole other fucking planet these last few days.

His hand falls away and Stephen turns around. "No, but I think it will fuck with my head, when I'm only just past what we did," he retorts a little more sharply than he intended. "I'd like to be on some kind of even keel for our wedding day."

Christ. "Fine. Then we won't talk about it," Antony says, a little pissed off but trying to rein it in. "You let me know when you're ready."

And that's just it, Stephen's almost certain he's never going to want to talk about it. Even if he should. Hands clenched in repressed anger of his own, he moves toward the door of the bedroom, his head down, needing to get away before he says something he shouldn't. Instead he'll take himself off to the kitchen, fix coffee and try to get his shit back under control.

Fucking... "Hey," Antony says, blowing out a breath. "I'm sorry."

And just like that, something snaps inside Stephen - his head comes up, and without thought he hisses out a noise of rage and punches the bedroom door, hard, really fucking hard.

"What the fuck?" Antony says, taken completely by surprise, his heart racing. "Stephen? What the hell is going on?"

The pain does nothing to bring Stephen back to himself, indeed he hits the wood again, leaving a splintered dent in it before he turns and strides down the hall and away from his clearly concerned lover. His breathing is deep and ragged, his skin flushed as he struggles to get some kind of handle on his own inexplicable rage. _Fuck!_

Antony follows. "Hey," he pushes at Stephen's shoulder. "I'm talking to you. What the fuck? Since when do we solve anything by hitting things?"

Stephen actually turns and pulls back his arm as if readying to throw a punch, an instinctive reaction to being touched when he's so enraged, but Stephen pulls up short, his eyes widening as he realises what he was about to do - and steps back. "I....I..." he stutters, unable to say a thing, let alone get his thoughts in order, instead he backs up until he hits the wall.

Antony stands there, staring at Stephen. Stunned. It was a barely an argument from his perspective and here Stephen was going to hit him - and he's already damaged their bedroom door. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but now I'm not giving you a choice. We need to talk about this."

As quickly as the anger appeared, it vanishes with the same speed, leaving Stephen shaking, a cold sick feeling settling in the pit of his belly. He wraps his arms around himself and nods, his head down. "Yes," his mouth is dry and the words stick. "Yes Sir."

"Let me see your hand," Antony orders, taking a look. It's bleeding and it'll bruise but there doesn't seem to be anything broken and cleaning it up can wait until later.

As soon as Antony's done, Stephen pulls his hand away, shame at his outburst - at what he nearly did - is choking him. He can't feel the pain, but his blood feels like ice in his veins, his belly rolling with nausea. _I'm sorry, please forgive me... please Sir..._

"Come sit with me," Antony says, pulling Stephen over to the couch. He settles against the end and pulls Stephen to sit between his legs, back against his chest, Antony's arms around him. Hugging him tight.

He can feel the warmth of his lover's breath against his nape, Antony's arms are sure and solid and Stephen wants to pull away, certain he doesn't deserve the comfort being offered. Instead he sits there, rigid and trembling.

"Talk to me," Antony says, hugging Stephen even tighter. "I can feel how much you're hurting and I want to help. I _can_ help if you'll let me. It doesn't matter whether it makes any sense or you're worried I'll get pissed off, just - get it out of your system. Let me help you sort through it."

"He disrespected me, and I let him, and what's worse I let him make me feel less for being who I am. All my adult life I knew what I was, it's so deeply ingrained in me, that need to be owned and used and be... boy, and it was my biggest gift to you, my submission, and in just one moment, I let it all be cheapened, I let one dumb fuck make me question the foundation that my whole life is built on." Stephen just... lets it go - his bloody hand covering his eyes as he talks, his voice low, the tempo of his speech quicker than he'd usually use.

"Don't you think you should give yourself a break?" Antony says softly. "You were already dealing with residual head space, you hadn't been out of here in a week..."

_...you of all people..._ The words have been echoing around Stephen's head for days, accompanied by the sick wash of shame he'd felt at the time. "No." He shakes his head, eyes closed. "I felt ashamed of my status, I felt less for being who I am, _what_ I am. And that - my submission, my status as your boy... it's the foundation of what we have, of us."

"So why do you think you felt that way?" Antony asks. "You've already said he was an idiot and I talked to him - he was. He was a kid who had no fucking clue what he was talking about and he could have said the same thing to lots of people in the club."

"I don't know," Stephen's frustration is clear, and it's all aimed at himself. "That's what I've been trying to figure out, to rationalise to myself, I just... I can't get square with it."

Fuck. Antony might be a lot of things, but a shrink isn't one of them. He doesn't know what to say or how to get to the bottom of this or how to make it better. But he has to keep trying. "What would you tell someone else in your situation?" he asks, kissing the back of Stephen's neck. "If someone close to you, someone who felt the same way as you about being a boy - if they had the same thing happen to them and they felt the same way, what advice would you give them?"

Stephen shrugs, his mind too chaotic to think logically right now. "I wish I'd told him to fuck off, I wish I'd demanded he explain what the fuck he meant by it." His hand slips down from his face to curl around the chains of his collar. "I'm usually so sure of that part of me, the need to submit, even if I'm never so sure at how good I am at it," he swallows hard and tugs on metal around his throat.

"You know what I think about that," Antony says, laying his hand over Stephen's. "How perfect you are for me. But you could still tell him to fuck off if you wanted. You have the right to file a complaint or to confront him."

"And what good would it do now? It's not going to make this all just magically disappear, is it, it's not going to give me back that certainty in myself, like you said, he was just some dumb kid." _So why has he gotten into you? Why are you questioning everything?_ "I think what I'm most freaked about is the idea that it means there's something wrong with me rather than it simply being a symptom of drop and vulnerability." He pulls free of Antony's arms and half turns to look at him. "Would you still want me, if I wasn't your boy?"

"Yes." Antony doesn't even hesitate. "You know that. I value your submission and I love you being my boy, but it's not the end all and be all."

"I'm enough? Just me?" Stephen drops his gaze to Antony's tags, sitting over his tee, normally the sight of them brings him a thrill, now however he looks away, down at his own damaged hand.

Antony blows out a soft breath. "I wouldn't be marrying you if you weren't. I wouldn't be promising to spend the rest of my life with someone I didn't think was my match in every way. You're not only my boy. You're my lover and my best friend."

Stephen's gaze cuts up at that, meeting those intense blue eyes of his lover, moments later Antony's face blurs as tears fill his eyes and Stephen presses in, face to his lover's chest. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." his fingers plucking at the soft, warm jersey beneath his hands.

"It's okay," Antony says, hugging him tight, his heart aching. "You don't have anything to be sorry for." _Except maybe our door_ but he wisely doesn't even joke about that.

Far from it, Stephen feels he has plenty to apologise for, but right now he needs the comfort his lover is offering him. He burrows his face in and simply lets it all out, all the shit he's bottled up for days.

And Antony just holds him. Hugs Stephen tight and lets him get it all out of his system, his t-shirt soaked with tears.

When the crying jag is over, Stephen lifts his head, fingers to his eyes to wipe away the remains of the tears. "I've got a fucking headache now, and my hand is throbbing," he admits, with a twisted attempt at a smile. "Serves me right huh?"

"Our poor bedroom door," Antony says, eyes crinkling. "You should let me clean up your hand."

Pulling right out of Antony's space, Stephen rights himself, uncurling his legs, and scrubbing his good hand over his face. "Okay, yeah," he agrees, "Then I'll make some coffee."

Antony grabs the First Aid kit from the bathroom. He cleans up Stephen's hand with an all-purpose wipe then goes at his knuckles with a cotton pad and wound cleanser. "You want me to wrap it or just use bandaids?" Either way, there's not going to be any hiding it once the bruises fully form.

"Which ever you think is best." Stephen watches Antony at work, only flinching the once when he first touches the broken skin with the antiseptic. "I never did warn you I had this temper thing huh?" he tries to tease, but can't help feeling it'll fall flat, that his lover won't appreciate it.

"Nope. I think that got left off the list," Antony says, wrapping Stephen's knuckles with several layers of gauze. "It was pretty impressive though," he adds, glancing up at Stephen and giving him a small smile. He doesn't mention how hard it was for him to keep hold of his own in response.

"Sorry," Stephen murmurs again, "I can count on one hand how often that's happened that I can recall," he blows out a breath, avoiding Antony's gaze. "I just... I bottle things up and then... bam!"

"Just as long as you don't bam me," Antony says, taping the gauze in place.

Stephen's jaw clenches at that, he'd actually pulled back his arm to do just that, and they both know it. The thought horrifies him. The moment Antony's done he pulls his hand away and shuffles back in his seat. "Thank you," he manages, his headache feeling like it’s settling in for an extended stay. _Suck it up, you deserve it._

"You want something to go with that?" Antony says, knowing he's made Stephen uncomfortable but it had to be said. "I have some Tylenol 3s or some Percocet."

"Yes please," Stephen nods, "I'll make some coffee, you want some?" He pushes up off the couch and makes toward the kitchen, needing to do something, anything to distract him a little.

Antony nods. "Thanks." Shaking out a couple of Tylenol 3s into his palm, he hands them over to Stephen then puts the First Aid kit back in the bathroom. "I'll have someone in to replace the door while we're gone," he says, coming back. They don't need the reminder when they're home again. He leans against the island, watching Stephen putter with the coffee. "Any idea what you want to do for dinner tonight? We can head out or order in, your choice."

He doesn't answer straight away, he finishes up and slides Antony's coffee in front of him. "Order in I guess." Stephen's in no mood to go out and have to put a front on, to have to watch himself and his every movement.

Antony blows out a breath, cupping his hands around his coffee. "Are we okay?" he asks, not sure if Stephen just needs some time or what.

The noise of the spoon hitting the counter top punctuates the silence after Antony's question, making Stephen start - showing just how jumpy he still is. "I don't know," Stephen shrugs and looks over at his partner. "I love you, you are my everything, that hasn't changed, this isn't on you, this is me, I just have to get right with it, with whatever that guy tripped, and... yeah, with what just happened."

"Do you want to talk to someone?" Antony asks. "Aside from me, I mean. There's people who work with Citadel."

The suggestion takes Stephen aback, it's the last thing he'd have expected his deeply private lover to put out there. "I don't know... do you think I should?"

"If it's still bothering you when we get home, then yeah, I think it's probably a good idea," Antony says, nodding, his hands still wrapped around his mug. "I'm sure they'd probably have something a lot more helpful to say than anything I can come up with."

"What if this is because of the scene we did?" That too has been worrying Stephen, that something got rattled loose when he was crawling around that gym floor covered in piss, cum and his own blood. "Because I don't want that to be true."

Fuck. Antony finally takes a sip of his coffee. A long sip. "Then we deal with it," he says when he's done. "But if you go to someone who's with Citadel, they're certainly not going to be looking for how you're feeling to be connected to that or making you feel like anything's wrong with you in the first place, unlike a lot of traditional psychiatrists."

Stephen picks up his own mug and moves to where Antony is sat. "You think you could pull some strings there, maybe get someone to see me before we go?" His voice is soft, "I want to put this right Tony, I hate how I've been feeling, and I don't want to take that with me while we're away, I don't want this hanging over us."

Antony nods, reaching out to take Stephen's hand and give it a squeeze. "I'm pretty sure Louis is in Sarlat right now, but let me see if Doc knows someone," he says, his phone already out. He texts his mate, letting him know it's important and to get in touch with him ASAP.

While Antony is busy texting, Stephen hooks a pack of cookies from the cupboard and carries them - along with his coffee - to the couch where he sets himself down, and tearing open the packet with his teeth, he starts in on them with determination.

Antony's barely sent the text before his phone starts ringing. "Hey, Doc, how's it going?" he says, watching Stephen scarfing down cookies like he hasn't eaten in days. "Good. I need a referral to a psychiatrist," he very carefully doesn't use the word _shrink_. "Someone Cit-affiliated." He blows out a breath. "No, not for me. For..." fuck. "My fiancé." He holds the phone away from his ear for a second. "A while ago. We're headed to New Zealand for the wedding in a few days." Christ. He listens to more excited rambling then shakes his head. "He needs to see someone before we go. Yeah. No, I know. I'd rather not say. Let me ask." He covers the phone for a moment. "Do you want to see a man or a woman?" he asks Stephen.

Crunching quickly around his mouthful Stephen tries to swallow so he can answer. "A guy," he nods - if he's going to be talking about his sex life... yeah he needs a guy.

"He'd prefer a man," Antony tells Matt. "Yeah, okay." He drops the phone from his ear again. "He's got me on hold while he checks who's available."

Stephen's half way through the packet before he pauses to drink his coffee, his headache is easing off, but he still feeling unsettled and his knuckles smart like a bitch beneath the dressing.

Matt comes back on and Antony takes the information. "Tomorrow?" Antony's surprised but grateful. "Yeah, that works. David Litton, 1 pm." He notes down the address. "He'll be there. Thanks. I owe you one." He laughs. "No, I'm pretty sure we're even at this point. Okay. Take care." He hangs up. "You got that?"

"Yeah," Stephen's eyeing the rest of the packet and trying to decide if he should be good, or if today's shit is a solid enough reason to have a 'fuck it' moment. "1 pm tomorrow."

"You want me to come with you?" Antony asks, sending Stephen the info. "Not into the appointment or anything, but I can drive you, be there when you come out. Or I can just wait here."

"I think I'd be better taking myself over there." He gives in and tears open the rest of the packet. "I'm sure you can keep yourself occupied, maybe you could cook dinner tomorrow? "

Antony sets his phone aside and comes to sit on the couch with Stephen. "What do you want?" he asks. "I can do lasagna or gnocchi."

He knows that cost his lover, he knows Antony would have wanted to come with him, but that acceptance of what he needs... Leaning in Stephen presses a kiss to his lover's cheek, "Thank you," he murmurs before pulling back and offering Antony one of the last cookies in the packet. "...gnocchi, please."


End file.
